On the Eve of the End
by DollyPop12
Summary: He asks if she wants to because they could die tomorrow and the answer is no: she doesn't want to say goodbye to him and she won't. She just wants to be with him.


". . .Give a mission as squad leader to every Death Scythe. . ."

In her hands, the tray of tea-cups felt heavy. He couldn't know what face she was making at him, seeing his delight at the idea of that soon-to-be slaughter they'd be walking into. But she knew he was grinning, not genuinely, or even happily, but with some demented pleasure that sent a shiver up her spine.

"The moon, huh?" and he chuckled, his voice rising up. He couldn't know what face she was making, but the downturned slope of her eye, her lips forming a frown, those things she knew intimately, recently. He hated seeing her upset, too. She knew he'd stop if she whirled him around, set down the tray onto a stack of what would be useless research if he continued going down the road she thought he was.

'He's enjoying it just like he's found a place to die,' she thinks, and it makes everything inside of her shudder and flail away, the breath in her lungs shriveling.

 _"In the meantime, you should meet with the people you want to say goodbye to."_

Lord Death's orders. She'd always followed them if she thought they were sound. She was meant to be his weapon, but she was starting to feel less like Death's Scythe by the day. It is not by his order that she goes to the battle, she knows that, which is why she can justify not wanting to say goodbye to anyone, least of all Stein: Stein, who was barely a second away from spinning in his chair, laughing at the prospect of walking to his death. She wanted to clench her fist, and she set the tray down, but her hand remained limp.

Instead, she stepped forward, just as he clicked his bolt back, once, twice, a third time. Calming himself, perhaps. For whose sake, she didn't know, nor care. But she had a sinking feeling that it didn't help, much. His grin was probably still on, a caricature of joy. When she sets her hands on his shoulders, the familiar feeling of the lab-coat can almost convince her that this is just like every other day. She brings herself close to his chair, until the back of his head is pillowed on her. Marie trails her palms down, over his chest, until the lab-coat ends and the plain, black cotton of his shirt replaces it. She skims over the stitches, jagged and harsh, that hold it together in the front until both palms settle, simply, almost nonchalant, over the upper left and she can feel his heart beating.

Slowly, as though not to startle him, or perhaps to give him room to escape because she never wants to corner him, she bends down until she nuzzles his bolt, laying a delicate kiss where it meets his skull. His hand falls away from it, settling into his lap, and he chuckles but it sounds less tinged with madness, this time.

"Marie," he says, his fingers twitching from their spot in his lap.

"I made tea," she informed him, but he made no movement at that suggestion.

"I don't feel like tea," he claimed, still immobile in her grasp, but pliant, and willing. He wasn't a man who often went seeking touch, but she knew he wanted it. At least, from her. He told her in the way he never pulled away, though he flinched, initially, until he realized it was her. She was proud of him. He hadn't even jolted when she'd bestowed her affection on him, even in the state he was in.

"What do you feel like, then?" she asked, and she made sure to put some other suggestion in it, particularly when she bent her head and lay a kiss on his jaw. His face moved under her lips, and only then did she realize that he was grinning, again.

"The apocalypse is looming over us and all you can think of is engaging in coitus?" he teased, and she wanted to cringe at how he put it. She didn't think Doctor Franken Stein would ever, in his entire life, use the phrase "making love", so she supposes she should take what she got. She wasn't fond of how. . .clinical it sounded, though, and she made a face. He knew her too well, his torso rumbling with another chuckle when he imagined what expression she made.

However, she didn't follow with the usual 'Do you have to phrase it that way?'. Instead, she only nuzzled the underside of his jaw, pressing another delicate kiss to the skin, her neck twisted uncomfortably.

"I want to be with you," she told him, voice warm enough that he breathed in deeply through his nose. "And I want you to know."

At that, he dislodged her hold, and for a second, her insides jumped. She must have said something wrong, but what, exactly, she couldn't place. Had she been too tender? She'd said sappier in the past, to him. Arguably, however, it was when she was naked.

But he only stood and she stepped away from the chair before he turned to face her, head tilted, almost like a cat.

"We could die tomorrow, is that why?" he asked, no trace of judgment on his face, though there was amusement, and it took everything she had not to yell at how calm he was about the idea.

"No," she responded, reaching out to softly encircle his wrist so she could lead his palm over her belly. His face didn't change, eyes merely flicking down to her navel and his gaze softening. He knew and she knew and they knew and there was nothing new in knowing: knowing the truth, the potential outcomes, each other.

She didn't have to tell him that she knew what he'd been thinking, didn't need to vocalize that, damn him, she was going into that battle of her own volition even carrying what she was carrying and she wanted no sacrifices from him. If his amusement was the result of some ultimate, fatalistic strategy, his suicidal offering, he would never, not then nor anytime soon, leave her on good terms.

She didn't want to be with him to say goodbye.

Carefully, she let go of her hold on him, but his touch didn't leave, and she wrapped her arms around him, stroking down his spine even if she didn't know how much of that he could feel through the layers of cloth he was fond of putting on, even in the heat.

"Please?" She wasn't above asking. There was understanding in his face, and the strange, twisted glee slipped away as he looked down at her, feeling her set her ear to his chest.

Her touch was downright loving. There was nothing that indicated malice or fury, no contempt, but it was an adoration that implied her displeasure at what he was planning. He was waiting for an argument from her, for a "you have people to live for" for "you have so much to do", but she didn't need to.

Instead, she only held him, as though he were a delicate thing, something deserving of being treated with care though he knew he was all raw meat and scar tissue threaded together. Marie's love was fierce and protective, her arms a circle, her kindness a circle of salt around him that seeped down into the ground as though to ward off demons, though he was often convinced he was one.

He basked in her adoration more than he'd ever want to admit.

He wasn't her, however: he didn't know how to touch things without ruining them, after, but he could try. He'd been trying. She didn't break from him before, splinter at his touch, frazzle through his fingers like a hallucination of golden light.

"Okay," he agreed and took his glasses off to set on the desk before he let her lead him to the bedroom. He'd have no problems with "being with" her, if that's how she wanted to put it, where they were, though the potential for a mess involving multiple spilled papers was rather high, he supposed. Besides which, comfort was relatively high on her list of priorities: if a mattress was available, a mattress she would have.

He supposed that was fair. He just wished she wasn't so tense about it. So, death was bringing its icy hand upon them, upon the world? He'd seen Marie look Lord Death in the eye, tell him "No", before, lie to him, before. War was war and slaughter was slaughter, if he ended in the ground, so be it. It wouldn't be favorable, but it would be fact, and he is not a man to fight fact.

Marie is tense, wired high when she kisses him after they walk through the door, thinking he can sap some of that tension away. And he can. He knows he can, but when he slides down the zipper of her skirt, her soul feels jittery and it shimmers with how tightly coiled she is. He wanted to tell her to lighten up, but it wouldn't go over well.

He was so tired of melodrama. Couldn't they go a single day without something cruel wrapped in their bones? If she wanted to "be with him", he'd prefer it be easy: she'd find no death-bed confessions from him. He'd never been a fan. So he pulls away from her and stops every motion, and when she blinks open her amber eye in confusion, he only looks at her knowingly.

She colors at his gaze, the blush coming over her nose in slight embarrassment. How could she have been so foolish as to believe she could hide from him? He'd been inside her soul, and she inside his: he opening himself to her until everything was illuminated and she, doing the same. She knew him too well to think, even for a second, that he wouldn't sense how she was feeling.

She huffed.

"Calm down," he told her, only then stroking what was barely exposed from her zipper.

"I am calm," she insisted, and he snorted in response, moving back from her entirely.

"Bullshit."

She pouted at that, but it did the trick. She didn't feel so. . .heavy, anymore. And he watched her soul settle, simmering down from the jitters it had prior. He shrugged off his lab-coat, uncaring of whether it pooled on the floor or not, and undid the collar of his shirt just enough so that it wouldn't get caught on his bolt as he pulled it off over his head. Marie, for her part, didn't make a move to remove her clothes, and he rolled his eyes when she came to him, again, running her hands over his now bare torso, a nail tracing one of his many incision lines.

She was small, always had been, and she wasn't wearing her shoes, for once. They weren't planning on going anywhere for the day, so he'd left his, as well, seeing as it was the eve of the end, and all that jazz. Without her heels, she had to stretch up to set a kiss to the center of his sternum, and he finally managed to get her out of her skirt, his hands catching underneath her shirt as he tugged it up, exposing her belly.

She grinned at that, recognizing his impatience, and helped him take the stretchy material off of her. He undid her bra with a single hand, using the other to run down her belly, slipping into her panties. When she exhaled, shaky and soft and wanting, spreading her legs, he threw her bra off to the side and smirked, denying her what he knew she wanted and only dragging the thin material of her underwear down. She looked at him in annoyance when she kicked them off and he bent down so he could kiss her, again, taking her lower lip between his teeth. Marie melted to him immediately, a bare thigh pressing between his legs and rubbing, something he was affected by regardless of the fabric he was still wearing. He kept her in place with one hand cupping the back of her neck, his other coming between them to undo his belt buckle and button. Marie, getting the same idea, wrapped an arm around him while the nimble fingers of her free hand followed his, helping him take his pants and boxers off.

He wanted to find some kind of leverage, the wall, maybe, especially when she stroked him and his knees almost buckled at the feeling. Stein pushed her hand away, leading her backward until the back of her legs hit the bed and she lost her balance. He was smug when he looked down at her, considering he was still upright. She'd loosened her hold around him in order to find space to touch him, and it proved detrimental to her.

"You know, I rather like this position," he informed, and she scoffed.

"Yeah? I like you better a little lower."

"Alright," he said, and he dropped to his knees in front of the bed, grabbing hold of her ankles and dragging her toward the edge until her legs were around his ears and she was sputtering. She lifted her head, coming up on her elbows to look at him and he raised a brow at her. "Here?" he asked, running his hands up her calf and turning his head to kiss her inner thigh.

She nodded, biting her lip. "Yeah, I like that one."

He kept his eyes locked on her while he moved, still rubbing her legs while he nipped his way down and then up the delicate flesh of the inside of her thighs, again, taking a second at the apex to breathe some hot air on her, which had her squirming, before he did the same to her other thigh. When he finally made his way back to her pelvis, having mouth-marked her to the knees, she locked her ankles behind him. Her amber eye was almost black from how wide her pupil was, her breathing getting harder, but she held his gaze.

When he spread her open, his thumb coming to rub at her before he licked, her breath hitched and she used her ankles to push him closer, which he didn't resist. She sighed in contentment, arching when his free hand moved up her side. He swirled his tongue around, lapping at her clit until she was calling his name, her hands grabbing his hair and moving him where she wanted him to go. He gently sucked, slicking his fingers up with how wet she was getting and sliding one into her, crooking it. The motion had her crying out, swiveling her hips.

He gave a final drag of his tongue over her before he pulled away, moving the finger inside her up toward him and rubbing until she was twitching. He didn't ease the action, even as he came off his knees, her legs falling open around him. Stein stopped and pulled out of her, however, in order to grab her around the waist with his other arm so he could bring her closer to the head of the bed, straddling her. She bent her knees so he could settle between them, lifting her neck and pulling him toward her so she could kiss him. He licked her lip, and when she opened her mouth for him, he knew she could taste herself on his tongue.

She lifted her hips, rubbing against him and feeling his erection press into her thigh. She made a pleased noise, lowering herself enough to grasp him, and this time, Stein let her, deepening the kiss while she adjusted herself until he was positioned at her opening. Marie sucked on his upper lip for a moment before she pulled away, blinking at him. His hand came to her cheek, still damp fingertips hitching under her patch and moving it away so he could see her entire face.

"Can I?" she asked, squeezing him gently.

He nodded, bracing himself before she led him inside of her, her eye fluttering shut when the head sunk in. From there, he could do the rest, and he pushed into her, watching her to see how she wanted it. He turned on his soul perception, able to see the way her soul warmed and danced, flickering before him in her chest.

He maintained deep, rhythmic motions, slow to the point of strain, but Marie was whimpering, enjoying the feeling of him taking his time, building her up. He brought his mouth to her neck, the hickeys there the direct cause of her newfound habit of wearing higher collars, and sucked at the delicate skin there while she massaged his back. He was sweating with the effort, going so slow making his head spin. Stein wanted to reach up and twist his bolt, but Marie deserved better than for him to be detached from what he was doing. She clenched around him, purposefully, and the breath he took in was shaky and harsh.

"A tease even at the end of the world," he said, eyes hazy and mind fogged; he couldn't have known what effect it would have. He couldn't think properly, beyond how she felt, but when she tightened again, her soul seemed to shrink back and he stopped at the realization.

"Sorry," he muttered, and she forced a smile on her face, wrapping her arms around him and trying to get him to move again by wiggling her hips. But her soul still looked less pleased than he'd like.

"It's okay," she told him, knowing that being reminded of their, seemingly, impending doom, was a massive mood killer. He rolled his eyes at her half-assed attempt, and instead, kissed her forehead, cradling her cheek while he supported himself on an elbow. He ran his other hand down her side, over her hip, sliding it underneath her so he could cup her ass. Marie's eye opened, locking on him again when he didn't stop, instead, trailing the underside of her thigh until he hit the back of her knee, purposefully tickling the sensitive flesh. Marie squirmed around, which felt more than a little amazing, but he didn't let up until she was giggling at the sensations and it made him smile.

Her soul calmed, glowing, once more, and she stroked the back of his neck while he rubbed the side of her knee with his thumb for a moment, hitching her leg up and around him. She shifted, helping him to bring it higher until her ankle was against his lower back.

He was about to open his mouth and ask if she was alright, but Marie bucked and he couldn't prevent the gasp when she asked him "Move. Please?"

So, he circled his hips, angling up and she closed her eye again, still smiling. The serene expression on her face gave way to pleasure, warming him, which only intensified when she brought her other leg up, her silky skin rubbing over his scarred flesh until that one, too, wrapped around him. When he looked down at her, she was just so vulnerable, her head tossed back while he rocked in her, throat exposed and breasts bouncing with each movement. He finally let go of the back of her knee in order to pull back, slightly, enough to slide his hand between them until his fingers parted her, again, gently stroking her clit. Marie gasped, her hold on him tightening while she clenched in response, and he laved over her collarbones, thrusting into her. She throbbed around him when he angled higher, forward and up, as though to inform without words that, yes, _there_.

"Better?" he asked, already losing composure, hips stuttering. She was swollen and soft, wet and warm and so good around him, and when he lowered his gaze further, he saw the flush collecting over her hips, indicating that she was close. She nodded frantically at his question and he rubbed her a little harder, which prompted an uninhibited "mmm" followed by a "Yes!" that was so high and delicate, he could do nothing but kiss her again, still caressing her cheek. He sped up, barely, losing rhythm as everything in his mind narrowed just to her and the feeling of the head of his cock brushing the particularly swollen part inside her. Marie wailed, her thighs hitching higher around him, adjusting her angle enough so that he was hitting the mark perfectly. She choked out "Harder!" against his lips, squeaking when he complied.

His rubbing was getting frantic, but she was pulsing around him, hard, the fluttering getting faster and faster until she broke their kiss, calling "Franken!", entire body in spasms as she threw her head side to side, climaxing around him.

Stein pushed into her once more, deep, and her walls thrummed over the entirety of his cock until he followed her, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder, mouthing at a hickey he'd made earlier to muffle his moans of her name, his hand finally stilling. His head was spinning, eyes rolled into the back of his head as he panted, trying to catch his breath as he twitched.

It took a while for him to come down from his high, but even when he did, it seemed as though Marie was still working her way through her own, shaking. He couldn't help the pride that swelled at that, that she was still clutching him, arms and legs holding tight as though he were her only buoy. She trembled, making involuntary squeaks and whimpering fragments of his name, eye clenched shut.

Stein's whole body just wanted to collapse forward, boneless, but he ran kisses over her neck, breathing warm breath onto her breasts and laving over the tops until she was settled, and he pulled out when her breathing evened, her legs falling from around him. He brought his hand away from between them so he could take them both to their sides.

"You alright?" he asked, stroking her ribs. She nodded, her eyelashes fluttering so she could look at him, a blissful look on her face.

"Mmmmmhm," she answered, cuddling close.

He almost wanted the time back when he could reach over to the side table and tap a cigarette out so he could smoke, but he'd have to do without. With no cancer stick to occupy him, Stein was left to remember what Lord Death told them, at the meeting, everything jumbled in his head having cleared post-orgasm.

"That was relatively great goodbye sex, if I'm any authority on the matter," he said, poking her side to indicate that he was joking. Marie sighed.

"That wasn't goodbye sex."

"Hm? Did you want to try again?" he asked, still not willing to let it go. He was in a good mood, and Marie felt perfect against him, her body soft and curvaceous. The second soul inside of her was warm, though not as warm as her own, and he just wanted to relax in high spirits.

"If we do, that won't be goodbye sex, either. . .I'm not saying goodbye to you," she informed him, her palm settling over where his heart was, feeling it drum underneath, alive.

His smile was unintentional, but it occurred, all the same: he supposed that was fair of her, considering he wasn't planning on saying it, either. And when she saw the unguarded contentment on his face, it was too much for her not to sidle in closer, nuzzling him and looking up just in time for his olive eyes to meet her amber one. He blinked, lazily, and she twined their legs together, kissing the center of his sternum, again.

When he pulled her closer to him, curling in as though to eclipse her from all the cruelty of the world, the silence was comfortable.

* * *

 **Let's not sit here and pretend that these two wouldn't have all the End of the World sex ever.**

 **I mean, I totally would.**


End file.
